Trouble Comes in Twenties
by sunshinesundae
Summary: She's fallen in a flowerbed, lost a student in the Forbidden Forest and narrowly missed blasting Hogwarts' hunky new groundskeeper to bits. They say trouble comes in threes, but for Pansy Parkinson, the disasters just keep racking up. Pansy/Charlie
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: I'm super excited to share this fic with you guys. I know it's not my usual Dramione, but I ended up adoring where this story went, and hopefully you will too._

 _The story is complete—seven chapters long and around 18,500 words in total. It was my entry to this year's HP Drizzle Fest on LiveJournal. The fest featured all sorts of pairings, all weather themed, which was pretty awesome!_ _Here is my prompt from LJ user 'mebeingmebe':_

 ** _It's raining buckets, she's lost in the Forbidden Forest looking for a missing student, and now her five-hundred galleon fur-lined boots are forever ruined! Enter Charlie Weasley, Hogwarts' new groundskeeper, to the rescue!_** ** _Pansy Parkinson/Charlie Weasley._** ** _Post-Hogwarts._**

 _Rating: T for occasional profanity and mild sexual themes_

 _Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter. Do own this story and also the cover image (of which I am particularly proud!). Please don't republish/use either without my permission. Thanks!_

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* * *

It was second period on a sunny November morning, and the girls in Pansy Parkinson's class were curiously distracted.

They were _supposed_ to be working in silence while Pansy marked a stack of test papers and lamented internally over their sieve-like minds—she'd ban summer holidays if she could, except then she'd never get a break—but there was some very definite giggling going on at the back of the classroom. Not to mention the extraordinarily high number of female students needing supplies from the cupboard under the window.

"Snapped another one, Miss Finch-Fletchley?" Pansy asked drily as the girl returned to her seat with a new quill.

Lauren, a Hufflepuff like her father, nodded.

"Yes. Sorry, Miss."

She didn't _look_ particularly sorry, Pansy thought. The girl's eyes were sparkling, and she had her bottom lip pulled beneath her teeth like she was trying very hard not to laugh.

Seeing her teacher's sceptical stare, however, Lauren attempted to compose herself.

"Won't happen again," she said earnestly, giving the quill a shake and writing energetically on her worksheet.

The student beside her snorted and rolled her eyes.

"Something wrong, Miss Weasley?" Pansy inquired. Rose started and flushed as red as her hair.

"No, Professor," she said. "Sorry."

Pansy watched the girls scribble frantically on their parchment for a moment longer, then, satisfied they were getting on, returned to her marking.

Not a minute later, she heard it again.

A giggle.

Her head snapped up, just in time to see the chair of every girl sat on the right-hand side of the classroom teeter precariously towards the windows.

"Right, that is enough!" she said, leaping to her feet and marching over. "What could _possibly_ be going on out there that has you all so… oh!"

She stopped short, staring open-mouthed out the window.

Because there, hard at work in the flowerbeds below, his bare skin slick with sweat, was Hogwart's new groundskeeper, Charlie Weasley.

 _Shirtless_.

"Merlin," she breathed.

He was planting something or other—Pansy didn't know what and, quite frankly, she didn't care. She was far too busy drinking in the rippling muscles of his arms, the strong hard slope of his shoulder, the golden glow of his skin in the sunlight…

"Merlin," she whispered again.

A flutter of feminine sighs from behind brought her sharply back to her senses. She whirled around, pink-cheeked, to discover every girl in the class had left her seat to join their teacher at the window.

All except one. Poor Rose Weasley, who had her head in her hands and her fingers pressed into her eyes as her friends and professor gawked at her uncle.

Embarrassed, Pansy drew herself to her full height.

"Back to your desks!" she said crossly. "All of you!"

"But _Miss_ ," Lauren said dramatically, not budging an inch. "Look at him!"

"He's majestic," added Megan, pressing her nose to the glass.

"Like a magnificent dragon," agreed Prisha, joining her.

"I'd like to tame _his_ dragon," Megan said longingly.

"Repeatedly," Prisha concurred.

"That is _enough_ ," Pansy ground out, shocked at the girls' smuttiness. "Back to your desks now, and stay there until I get back."

No one moved.

"Where are you going, Professor?" Lauren asked, not even bothering to turn her head.

Pansy narrowed her eyes.

"To get rid of this"—she gestured towards Charlie, still hard at work in the garden, still entirely oblivious to the explosion of third-year hormones he'd triggered upstairs—"this eyesore!"

And with that, she flounced from the room, robes fluttering dramatically around her.

Really, she thought crossly as she stomped down the stairs, the man was old enough to be their father!

 _Not yours_ , a little voice reminded her, but she shook it off.

She was _not_ going there. No way.

Never mind his twinkly brown eyes, or his tanned freckled skin, or his devil-may-care grin.

Never mind the first time she'd seen him, the very first day of term, he'd been crouched beside a tearful first-year at Hogsmeade Station, talking in a low kind voice until the boy had grinned and giggled and skipped away.

Never mind that no matter how doggedly she ignored him, the infuriating man always found a way to catch her eye across the Great Hall and wink or smile or do something else that made her want to melt into a dripping puddle at the dinner table.

No, she was here at Hogwarts to _work_. She was still only relatively new—this was her third year at the school but only her second as a full-blown teacher—and although the other teachers seemed to like her so far, she still felt like she had to prove herself. Flirting with the groundskeeper, no matter how ruggedly handsome said groundskeeper was, was not the way to garner respect as the school's newest charms mistress.

But Merlin was he handsome. That bloody man. Everything inside her seemed to liquefy at the sight of those loose work trousers slung low on his hips.

"Weasley," she snapped, marching across the lawn towards him—no easy feat in stiletto-heeled boots.

Charlie started then straightened, pausing his digging. His eyes raked over her like they always did, from her dark bob and full fringe, tousled just so, to the fitted black skirt beneath her billowing velvet robes, before lifting to meet hers, eyebrow arched.

Now Pansy wasn't a woman unused to male attention—she was attractive enough and entirely prepared to use it to her advantage—but she was a _professor_ and trying her damned hardest to be an imposing authoritative figure, and the way he was looking at her was making her feel anything but.

She scowled at him, stopping at the edge of the flowerbed.

"Parkinson," he said, with that maddening half-smile of his. "Oh dear, look at that face. What have I done now?"

He made it sound like she was always telling him off, which wasn't true. Certainly, she was often rather short with him—mostly so no one could accuse her of fancying him rotten—and she did tend to return his saucy smirks with a fierce glare.

But still. She wasn't that awful.

She raised her chin, hoping she looked at least halfway dignified.

"You are distracting my class," she said stiffly. He rested an arm on his spade, causing certain muscles to flex quite interestingly— _do not ogle his naked chest, do not ogle his naked chest—_ and regarded her with amusement.

"Am I, Professor?"

Entirely aware he was teasing her, she fixed him the hardest look she could muster.

"You are."

"And how, may I ask, am I doing that?"

Pansy pursed her lips.

"That," she said, gesturing in the general direction of his glistening muscles. "That. Your naked sweaty self is distracting my class."

"Naked, sweaty self, huh?" He eyed her knowingly. "Are you sure it's your class I'm distracting, Pansy?"

Oh, she did _not_ like him using her first name. And she did _not_ like what he was insinuating.

Incensed, she took a step towards him—a horrible idea, really, as the pointed heel of her boot sank into the soft earth and she pitched forward with a squeak of alarm, almost falling flat on her face in the flowerbed.

 _Almost_. Charlie caught her before she fell, wrapping an arm around her waist and bringing her flush against him. Her hands splayed flat on his chest, his skin hard, hot and damp beneath her fingers, and she almost stopped breathing.

"Steady, Professor," he murmured, eyes on hers.

He had beautiful eyes. Up close, she could see the amber flecks in his brown irises, the long lashes wasted on a man, the fine lines around the corners—laughter lines, she knew, because they deepened when he smiled.

She blinked, trying—and failing—to pull herself together. Had his lovely thick red hair always curled so charmingly, so boyishly, across his forehead, she wondered dazedly. And if so, why in the name of Merlin was it so very distracting right this second?

A loud whoop from the windows above brought the world into abrupt and unpleasant focus.

The anger had evaporated at the feel of his body against hers, but now it returned full force, along with a fair dose of humiliation that her class had witnessed her trip and fall, right into Charlie Weasley's naked, sweaty torso.

"Let me go," she said, pushing at his chest. Another bad idea—Merlin, the man was solid. But he released her at her request, carefully, ensuring she was back on her feet, then stepped away.

"Thank you," she said, rather ungraciously actually, but he smiled at her in his usual affable way.

"So I'm distracting your class, huh?" He wrenched his spade out of the ground and turned to assess his beds. "Well, I suppose I don't have to finish planting these now. Give me a minute to finish getting these daffs in, then I'll be out of your hair."

Pansy would much rather he stick a shirt on and leave immediately, but she supposed that might sound rather unreasonable. She flashed him a stiff smile.

"Thank you."

He winked, making her flush scarlet (the man knew what he was doing to her—he just had to!), then carried on with his digging.

Of course, Pansy couldn't stand there forever watching the sweat trickle down his muscled stomach, so with another brisk nod, she turned on her heel and picked her way back across the grass. It wasn't the dignified exit she'd have liked—her heels sank straight into the soft earth with every step, making her look, she was sure, like a constipated hippogriff—but it would have to do.

Her class had clearly been watching the entire exchange from the window. When she entered, the desks squeaked as the last few stragglers leapt back into their seats. Lauren had her hands over her mouth, clearly trying not to laugh, and she wasn't the only one. The whole class looked like they were smothering giggles, exchanging knowing glances as she stalked, back ramrod straight, to the front of the classroom.

It was, all in all, utterly mortifying. Pansy had had some iffy moments as a new teacher, but this was the worst by far. And it was all bloody Charlie Weasley's fault.

She surveyed her class through narrowed eyes.

"Since you all must have finished the questions I set you," she said ominously. "Perhaps I should set you some more. Page twenty-two, questions one to twenty. If you're not finished by the end of the lesson, I want them done for homework. By tomorrow," she added, well aware she was being mean.

Her malice worked though. The suppressed smiles vanished in an instant, replaced by identical expressions of shock.

Pansy simply smiled serenely. She didn't often give in to nastiness as a teacher—she wanted her pupils to respect her, not despise her—but damn it if, at times like these, she didn't relish the power.

A loud scrape caught her attention; she zeroed in on Albus Potter, the nephew of the very man who'd caused such humiliation. The boy had clearly forgotten himself and shoved his chair back in utter outrage.

"Problem, Mr Potter?" she asked coolly.

The boy looked conflicted for a moment—he was actually a rather well-mannered child; it was his brother, James, who had the runaway mouth—but apparently his sense of fairness won out.

"Me and Scorpius have Quidditch practice this evening," he said, a blush rising high in his cheeks. "We can't do those questions for tomorrow."

Pansy lifted a brow.

"Is that so? Well, then perhaps it would be better if you and Scorpius do your homework here with me in detention, where I can ensure you complete it," she said, taking a perverse sort of pleasure in the way the boys' mouths dropped open and their eyes bulged. "Four o'clock," she added. "Don't be late."


	2. Chapter 2

By lunch time, Pansy felt guilty. By the end of the school day, she was completely prepared to send the boys off to Quidditch practice the moment they turned up to serve their detention. Really, she'd only picked on Albus because of his damn uncle.

She stared blindly down at the quiz she'd been drafting for her fifth-years and sighed. She'd embarrassed herself today—in front of Charlie, in front of her _students_. And for what? Because she didn't want to admit she fancied the new groundskeeper? It had been quite clear to everyone that she fancied him.

But a fling, especially a fling with a colleague, was not what she wanted right now. She'd had enough flings in her twenties. And that's all it would ever be with Charlie Weasley. The man was forty years old for heaven's sake and, if the gossip was to be believed, had never had a serious relationship in his life.

Not that Pansy was really looking for anything serious right now. She'd worked hard to get to Hogwarts, and she wasn't going to jeopardise her job or her reputation for anything.

It was just, well, she'd reached a point in her life where all her friends were paired off and having children, and Pansy's parents weren't letting her forget it. Traditional to the very core, they had been astounded when she'd announced she wanted to become a teacher. They would much rather she focus on bagging herself a rich pure-blood husband and popping out grandchildren by the dozen, and told her so, frequently, and with sad, pitiful expressions that made her feel a complete and utter failure.

And she was, she supposed. Thirty-four with no husband, no babies, and not a single prospect in sight.

The thought was rather depressing for such a sunny day, so she decided to go for a walk before Albus and Scorpius arrived. She was just stood behind her desk, neatening the papers she'd left strewn carelessly about, when a loud rap on her door made her jump.

She blinked. She wasn't expecting anyone, and it certainly didn't sound like Headmistress McGonagall, who'd taken a liking to Pansy and often popped by her classroom with tea and biscuits.

"Come in," she called, sitting back down.

The door flew open with such force, it hit the wall and made her bookshelf wobble.

"Parkinson!" Charlie Weasley said, furious, as he marched over the threshold and across the classroom towards her. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Pansy stared at him, gobsmacked. She was so used to him smiling or winking or laughing at her that his anger was utterly jarring.

"I'm sorry," she said, genuinely oblivious. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He came to a stop in front of her desk.

"Of course you do," he said, eyes flashing. "You gave my nephew detention to get back at me."

Oh. _That_.

Shame surged through her like a hot wave, but she raised her chin. He was right, of course, and she planned to fix it, but that didn't mean he could barge in here and make accusations.

"I gave your nephew detention," she said in a hard voice, "because he told me, and the rest of the class, that he wasn't going to do the homework I had set."

"You targeted him unfairly."

"He was _rude_."

Charlie scoffed.

"Albus is never rude. You know that as well as I do. No, you were angry with me and you took it out on him."

Pansy stood, furious at his presumption.

"I was _not_ angry with you," she said fiercely. "I gave your nephew detention because he deserved it."

"It's his first detention, you know," Charlie snapped. "I found him upset in the boys' toilets."

Pansy's stomach clenched a little, but she hid it with a scowl.

"How I discipline my class is none of your concern," she said tartly. Charlie's hands fisted at his sides.

"It is when it's my nephew and you're targeting him because of me."

Pansy felt anger wash over her. Could the man be any more _arrogant_?

"I am not targeting him because of _you_ ," she spat. "Despite what you might think, Weasley, the world does not revolve around you. And just because you had some hotshot career in Romania does _not_ give you the right to come stomping in here and question _my_ teaching."

"I question injustice," he said immediately.

Of course he did. He was a fucking Gryffindor through and through.

"Don't be so ridiculously dramatic," she said with a sneer. "I'm not expelling the boy. It's a simple detention and whether or not he deserves it, you are the groundskeeper, not a teacher. Not my boss. Not even my senior. You're a gardener, Weasley, and you have no right _at all_ to tell me how to do my job."

Silence. Pansy drew a breath, shocked at her own spite as the words hung, almost tangible, in the air. Charlie gazed at her for a long moment, as if seeing her through new eyes, and she wished she could take it all back.

"You're right," he said eventually. "I don't. Treat my nephew how you like. Now, if you'll excuse me," he added with a hint of sarcasm, "I have a flowerbed to finish."

Pansy watched helplessly as he turned on his heel and walked briskly up the aisle, sturdy work boots echoing loudly on the flagstones.

At the door, he paused, turning his head slightly towards her.

"You should know," he said lightly, "that he talked about being in your class again all summer."

And then he was gone. The door swung closed behind him, leaving Pansy stood in her classroom, alone and ashamed.

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* * *

Pansy stewed on her argument with Charlie all evening. She'd packed Albus and Scorpius off to Quidditch practice as soon as they'd arrived—much to their unbridled delight—skipped dinner and retired to her room to mope around with a large box of chocolates and an even larger glass of wine.

She always did this—reacted swiftly and viciously to the slightest possibility of embarrassment, rejected others before they had the chance to reject her. It had been her speciality at school, the reason there'd been so few people who liked her, although she thought she might have grown out of it by now.

Clearly not.

She dropped her head back against the sofa and groaned out loud.

"Merlin, what's the matter with _you_?" a voice from the fireplace asked. Pansy sat up, startled, until she saw who it was smirking out at her from the coals—then she rolled her eyes and slumped back into the cushion.

"Greengrass," she said in disgust. "Don't you have someone else to go bother?"

Daphne laughed, her lovely face flickering in green flame.

"Bad day I take it?"

"The goddamn worst."

"What happened?"

"Charlie Weasley happened, that's what."

Daphne's eyes lit up.

"Ooh, yes, I heard he'd taken over from Hagrid this year. Tell me, is he as gorgeous as I remember?"

"Even more so," Pansy replied glumly, "and ten times as charming."

"What's he doing at Hogwarts? I thought he had some high-flying research career in Romania."

"He did. He resigned apparently. I'm not sure why."

"And now he's a glorified gardener," Daphne said. "Silly man."

Pansy winced. It was just a little too close to the nerve that. Daphne, however, didn't notice.

"Have you snogged him yet?" she asked with a wicked grin.

"No!" Pansy glared at her. "And I don't want to."

"Yes, you do," Daphne said. "Why else would you be pining on your sofa with such an enormous glass of wine?"

"I am not pining!"

"Did he reject you?" she asked, then paused. "Oh Pans," she said gravely. "You didn't, did you?"

Pansy sat upright.

"Didn't what?"

"Get all weird and angry around him because you like him and you're embarrassed."

Pansy stared. Was she really that predictable?

"Oh Merlin, you did, didn't you?!" Daphne exclaimed. "What did you say?"

"Nothing," Pansy said defensively. When her friend arched a perfect blonde brow, her scowl deepened. "Fine. I made a fool of myself this morning in front of my class, and well, it was all Weasley's fault, and I just got so mad at him, so I gave his nephew detention, and he came to confront me, and for Salazar's sake, it wasn't my fault the man was shirtless…"

"Shirtless?" Daphne squeaked. "He confronted you shirtless?!"

"No," Pansy said with a frown, realising she'd muddled her story. "He was shirtless this morning, digging in the garden, and Merlin Daff, you should have seen him. He was all hot and sweaty and dirty, and I just got so flustered. It was awful."

"It doesn't sound awful," Daphne said, downright gleeful. "It sounds scrumptious!"

"Yes, well"—Pansy thought about this for a moment—"it was rather scrumptious, until I embarrassed myself and took it out on poor Albus Potter."

"And Charlie came to confront you?" her friend asked. "Was he mad?"

"Blistering."

Daphne sighed happily.

"Oh swoon," she said. "Merlin, I wish I was single."

"Daphne!" Pansy said, shocked. "That's a horrible thing to say."

Her friend swatted her hand through the flame.

"Oh, I don't mean it, you daft cow," she said. "I love Theo—I wouldn't change him for the world. But I'm married, not dead. And any woman would have to be dead not to want to shag Charlie Weasley."

"Well, I don't want to shag him," Pansy said defiantly.

"Yes, you do. And you should! You haven't dated anyone since you started working at Hogwarts. It's just sad."

"No, it's not. I'm still new here. I want to make a good impression."

"You have made a good impression, and you're a teacher, not a nun! You're allowed a little fun."

Pansy scowled at her.

"What if I don't want a little fun?"

"But you do! You want to shag Charlie Weasley!"

"I do not! And if even I did, he wouldn't touch me with a ten-foot broomstick. He _despises_ me."

"So?" Daphne was grinning widely, even as Pansy glowered harder. "Angry hate sex is the best kind of sex."

"Daphne!"

"I swear, Pans, if you don't jump his bones, I will come over there and I will make you myself. Do you hear me?"

"Daphne, really…"

"Do you hear me?!"

Realising this could go on for a while, Pansy slumped back against the sofa and folded her arms across her chest.

"Fine. I hear you," she said.

"So you'll do it?"

"No, you silly slag," she said. "I am not going to shag Charlie Weasley. I am a teacher, he is my colleague, and I was horrible and cruel to him today when all he was trying to do was defend his nephew." She stared miserably into the dregs of her wine. "I'm a fucking mess."

Sympathetic as ever, Daphne tutted and smirked.

"Language, Professor. Think of the children."

"I do think of the children," Pansy said, gesturing emphatically with the glass. "All the bloody time. Not that anyone appreciates me for it."

"Oh dear. Poor Pansy," her friend teased. "Stuck at Hogwarts with that delicious hunk of man pruning your roses."

Pansy wrinkled her nose.

"Was that supposed to be some sort of euphemism?"

"It would be if you'd actually gone for it," Daphne said. "I still think you should."

"Well, I won't," Pansy said firmly. "And that's the end of it."

Daphne blew out her cheeks.

"Fine," she said. "Are you still up for meeting in London next weekend?"

Pansy said she was, and they chatted for a little while longer. Eventually, though, Daphne had to go, since Theo had gotten home and she'd put on her kinkiest underwear as a surprise. Pansy grimaced—she did _not_ need to know that—and bid her goodnight.

"Do it," Daphne said by way of goodbye. "Shag him silly."

"Oh sod off," Pansy said, but the fireplace was already empty.

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 _A/N: Thanks for reading! Please do drop me a review to let me know what you thought._


	3. Chapter 3

If it hadn't been for the wine, Pansy wouldn't have slept at all that night, so terrible did she feel about her confrontation with Charlie. She woke early, her cruel words and snide tone playing in her ears like some broken Muggle record. She had been indefensibly rude, and she needed to apologise.

She didn't get a chance at breakfast. There were too many teacher, too many pupils, milling around for such a private conversation. Then she had back-to-back lessons all morning and afternoon, and a heavy downpour during lunchtime meant she spent the entire hour break corralling restless students in the Slytherin common room, so she resolved to seek him out later that evening.

Once she'd built up the nerve, of course.

She was just tidying her classroom after a particularly boisterous final session when there was a gentle knock at her door. Her heart leapt.

"Come in," she called nervously.

The door creaked open to reveal Professor McGonagall. Pansy's heart sank for a moment, then she cheered up slightly. She had become quite fond of the school's headmistress and enjoyed her frequent visits to see how the school's newest teacher was getting on. It did help, of course, that such visits always involved a generous selection of Scottish shortbread.

"Prof—Minerva!" she said, correcting herself as usual. Old habits die extremely hard. "What can I do for you?"

"I am in need of a favour actually," McGonagall said, eyes creasing apologetically behind her spectacles. "Professor Slughorn has come down with a rather severe strain of the flu. He was supposed to be supervising Mr Weasley's creatures club this evening, and I am in desperate need of a replacement. You know the rules," she added. "One adult for every fourteen children in afterschool clubs, and Mr Weasley's club has grown quite popular."

Pansy did know. She stared at the older witch.

"And you want"—she swallowed—"you want me to fill in?"

"Well, yes," McGonagall said with her usual dry humour. "That _was_ the reason I told you. I'd do it myself," she added, "but Charlie was talking about taking them into the forest, and it does look rather like it's going to rain again."

Great, Pansy thought. Just great.

"Oh, don't look so glum, dear," McGonagall said, eyeing her woebegone expression. "I'm sure he'll keep them all inside should it really start to pour."

To be completely honest, the possibility of rain was not Pansy's greatest concern. It was facing Charlie after such a horrible argument, when she was still so desperately attracted to him, in front of a club full of teenagers. _That_ was what worried her.

"I—I have marking," she said weakly.

"I'll do it," McGonagall said, sweeping briskly across the room to Pansy's desk. "Oh dear, you have got a lot, haven't you?" she said, sitting down and sifting through the papers. "We'll have to have a chat about time management. I've developed some wonderful tricks over the years."

She glanced over her glasses as Pansy simply stood and stared, stupefied.

"Off you go, dear," she said. "The club starts in fifteen minutes, and I'm sure Mr Weasley will be wanting to crack on."

Fifteen minutes?! Merlin, it would take her that long just to get out of the castle! Wasting no more time, Pansy grabbed her outdoor robes and fled, struggling into them as she ran.

Fifteen minutes, she thought crossly as she strode down the hallway. _Fifteen minutes!_ And the professor hadn't given her so much as a shortbread finger.

She didn't really mind covering for Professor Slughorn, of course. And under usual circumstances, she'd have _enjoyed_ the opportunity to ogle Charlie for an hour or so. But she'd spent the whole day psyching herself up to apologise, and now she had to face him without having done so—in front of twenty-eight teenagers, no less.

Pansy could certainly think of several ways she'd prefer to spend her evening.

The kids in the creatures club were waiting at what used to be Hagrid's hut but was now a quaint little log cabin with a stout stone chimney and a low sloping veranda. Charlie and his brothers, she knew, had been working on it all summer.

His club was open to all year groups, but it appeared to be mainly younger students who had joined. Pansy spotted Albus and Scorpius slouched on the steps to the cabin, and beside them, Rose Weasley, perched precariously on the banister. She was swinging her bare legs and chattering, or so it appeared, the hind leg off a centaur. Not that the boys seemed to mind. Scorpius, in particular, seemed entirely absorbed.

Pansy frowned; she was sure he could see right up Rose's skirt. Remembering his father at school, however, it was entirely likely the boy had put himself there with that exact intention.

There were a few other third-years, mainly boys. It seemed Lauren and the other girls had not yet figured out that they could spend an entire hour a week goggling at the groundskeeper if they joined his club.

Said groundskeeper, Pansy noticed, was rummaging in a crate of supplies, displaying a rather well-formed rear clad in soft brown corduroy. She caught herself mid-gawp and marched briskly over.

He straightened as she reached him, glancing briefly in her direction. He seemed to register her presence a half-second later, because his head snapped towards her in surprise.

"Parkinson!" he said, eyebrows lowering in displeasure. "Where's Slughorn?"

Besides yesterday, it was the first time he'd ever greeted her without a smirk or a wink, and Pansy felt it like a blow to the gut.

"Ill," she said crisply. "Minerva asked me to cover."

His gaze swept over her like it always did. Evidently he found her lacking, because his eyes narrowed.

"We're going into the forest," he said, folding his arms across his broad chest.

"I know."

"It'll be muddy."

She fixed him a cold stare.

"Your point?"

"Don't have one," he said evenly, turning back to the crates. "Only I won't carry you back when you fall over in those ridiculous shoes and break your ankle."

Pansy glanced down at her feet. Damn it. She'd forgotten that she'd put on her new boots this morning. She'd only bought them last month. They'd set her back an obscene five-hundred galleons, but they were truly the most beautiful shoes she'd ever owned, all sumptuous brown suede as soft as butter.

They were exceedingly practical too, she'd reassured herself in the shop, lined with warm caramel-coloured fur and only three-inch heels.

"They'll be fine," she said tightly, although the thought of dodging mucky puddles in her precious babies cut her to the core.

Charlie picked up an armful of clipboards.

"I hope so. Alright," he called to the kids. "Let's bring it in."

The kids obeyed swiftly. _Annoyingly_ swiftly to a rather resentful Pansy.

"I want you in groups of three," Charlie said. "Everyone take a clipboard and a quill, and one collection kit for every group. Today, we're going into the Forbidden Forest…"

A raucous cheer greeted this revelation, particularly loud from a group of second-year Gryffindors. Still passing out clipboards, Charlie grinned and shook his head.

"Alright, calm down. We're not going too far in. There are some interesting bugs that live in the forest. We're going to see if we can catch a few and make some observations."

A murmur of appreciation ran through the club. Clearly, bug-hunting was an exciting prospect, although Pansy couldn't really see the appeal.

"Professor Parkinson will be joining us today," Charlie continued, with another disapproving glance at her boots. "We'll walk single file into the forest. I'll lead. The professor will bring up the rear. Now, although we're not going far, the forest is a dangerous place and there are a few ground rules I want to go over before we begin."

The rules didn't take very long, and soon Pansy was traipsing along a narrow boggy track through ever-thickening trees. She tried to avoid the swampiest sections of the trail, but Charlie was setting quite the pace and it was a struggle to keep up. It didn't help that she was wearing a stylish but rather fitted tweed skirt. Her legs didn't stretch all that far.

She also had the misfortune to be stuck at the back with Rose Weasley, who she rather liked but was, unfortunately, a bit of a chatterbox. Pansy nodded gravely but didn't really listen as the girl rattled on about the Blast-Ended Screwts, Blood-Sucking Bugbears and other terrifying creatures that lived in the Forbidden Forest, and exactly what you were supposed to do if you met one.

Eventually, though, they reached the large clearing Charlie had designated as the bug-hunting zone. He'd clearly come out beforehand—every third tree lining the edge was marked with a neon pink cross.

"Okay, guys," Charlie called. "Spread out, but no further than the crosses, please. The wards will stop anything coming in, but we can still get out, and I'd rather not have to come out and rescue any of you from stray spiders."

Eagerly, the kids got to work. Charlie wandered between the groups, inspecting the bugs they'd found, showing them how to refine their drawings and observations, and helping set the creatures free again.

Pansy, meanwhile, perched herself on a large damp rock and tried to scrape some of the mud off her boots with a twig.

Bloody forest. Bloody man. If he hadn't been so damn stroppy, she'd have asked him to lend her a pair of wellies, or even suggested she run back up to the castle to change.

But here she was, sat in a soggy clearing on a Friday evening, with a mud-splattered skirt and a man who hated her.

Wasn't her life just bloody great?

"You've got a face like a smacked arse, Parkinson," Charlie said, appearing suddenly in front of her. "You could at least pretend you're enjoying this."

"Why?" she said rudely, too damp and cold for niceties. "For the kids?"

His eyes burned into her.

"Wouldn't hurt."

"I'm here to supervise," she said, "not hunt bugs."

His gaze flicked back to her shoes and figure-hugging skirt.

"Clearly," he replied coolly, "since you couldn't even be bothered to put on some proper clothes."

He'd really gotten hung up on that, hadn't he? Pansy pushed herself up off the rock and scowled up at him.

"I am wearing what I've been wearing all day," she said fiercely. "Minerva didn't exactly give me much time to get ready. In fact, you should be grateful I'm here at all!"

"I'm indebted," he said flatly. "Let me know your favourite flower and I'll plant up a bed of them, shall I?"

With a huff of frustration, Pansy shoved past him and stomped over to a group of first-years. They'd been watching the exchange between charms mistress and groundskeeper with wide, curious eyes, but now, they pretended to be examining something bright blue and shimmering in their jar.

"What have you found, then?" Pansy barked, before realising she should probably make an effort to sound less like an Auror interrogating criminals. She softened her voice. "A caterpillar, is it?"

It was. The kids chatted enthusiastically about that particular species, aided by Charlie's brightly coloured bug-spotters' guide. He'd really put a lot of effort into this, she realised with begrudging appreciation.

She snuck a glance at him across the clearing. He was crouched among a group of second-year boys, talking animatedly about something in their jar. They were staring at him, enthralled, plainly hanging on every word.

She wondered again why he'd quit his lucrative career in Romania. As far as she knew, he'd had a very senior role at the dragon reserve there, and had done for many years. Why give it all up to come _here_ of all places?

"Professor Parkinson!" a panicked voice cried suddenly. "Professor Parkinson!"

Thudding footsteps and she turned, just as Albus and Scorpius skidded to a halt beside her. Their faces were white, and Pansy's stomach roiled.

"What's wrong?"

"It's Rose," Albus said. "She's gone into the forest."

Pansy's gaze snapped automatically to the treeline. Without her noticing, it had started to drizzle—the sort of rain that looked more like mist—and the far end of the clearing was almost completely obscured.

"Where?"

"Just there." Scorpius pointed to a wizened old tree shrouded in fog. Pansy set off straight away.

"Why in the name of Merlin," she asked as they hurried towards the tree, "did she leave the clearing?"

The boy's silence was telling. They'd very clearly done something stupid.

"What happened?" she asked grimly.

"Well…" Albus glanced at his friend in a way that told Pansy exactly who had been to blame. Her gaze swivelled to Scorpius.

"I—well…" The boy's pale cheeks were splotched with pink. "I sort of dared her to do it."

"You _dared_ her?" Pansy asked in disbelief. Didn't they realise the Forbidden Forest was no place for childish dares?

"I didn't mean to," Scorpius said miserably.

"He didn't, really," Albus added. "Really, Professor. I swear!" he said when she gave him a suspicious look. "You see, we were over by that tree, looking for bugs, and Rose kept telling us that we shouldn't be so close to the edge. She was going on and on about spiders and how their venom melts your body to mush, so Scorpius said he thought her house was supposed to be brave, and she said she was, and _he_ said the standard of Gryffindors had clearly declined over the years, and she said they hadn't, so he told her to prove it…" Albus finally paused to draw breath. "So she did."

By this point, they'd reached the bushes where Rose Weasley was purported to have vanished. Perhaps she was just on the other side, unable to get back through the wards.

Pansy swallowed. Or perhaps she wasn't.

She glanced back at Charlie. He was on the far side of the clearing, his back to her, his collar turned up around his ears.

Looking at him, something that felt a lot like determination hardened inside her. He thought she was silly, shallow, a pampered princess. And yes, she did like nice things and yes, sometimes she did react in ways she later regretted. But she was also a teacher—a _good_ one—and you didn't become a teacher at Hogwarts without learning how to handle emergencies.

"If I'm not back in fifteen minutes," she said to the two boys beside her, "tell Mr Weasley what happened."

Albus nodded, but Scorpius only stared, dismally, into the gloomy forest.

"I hope she's okay," he said glumly.

Pansy sighed. He looked so frightened, and so like Draco, that she almost forgave him.

 _Almost_.

"I will deal with you two later," she said severely then, drawing her wand, marched into the trees.

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 _A/N: So we're into the forest! Stay tuned for shenanigans ;)_


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Thanks for the lovely reviews so far! Please enjoy this next instalment._

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* * *

"Rose?"

The rain, falling heavier now, drowned out her anxious call.

Even with the dense canopy of trees overhead, the water gushed to the forest floor. Pansy's flimsy outdoor robes hadn't stood a chance—she'd been drenched to the bone in minutes. Shivering, she stopped to shelter beneath a huge stooping tree and cast a quick warming charm. It spread over her like a hot wave, and she sighed, resting back against the trunk.

She had, she realised with hindsight, made a huge mistake not immediately coordinating a search party.

She'd thought Rose wouldn't have strayed too far. A few minutes beyond the wards to tease the boys, perhaps, then she'd be back at the edge, waving and giggling until someone let her through. Pansy would give her a stern talking to, maybe even haul her in front of McGonagall, but that would be the end of it.

Not so. Pansy had been searching for more than an hour now, most of which she'd actually spent trying to find her way back to the clearing. A task which should have been very straightforward but was, in fact, proving entirely hopeless.

It was possible, of course, that Charlie had cast some sort of repelling charm, one that would drive away anyone or anything that got too close to the clearing—but more likely, it was simply Pansy's piss-poor sense of direction.

The trees all looked the same to her—tall, fat trunks, sweeping branches—although in the last few minutes, they had seemed to get closer together. Which only confirmed Pansy's fears that she had, in fact, been walking _deeper_ into the forest. Here it was darker, creepier, branches reaching for her as she passed, ancient roots pushing up from the ground like bony fingers.

"Rose?" she called again, but there was no reply. In fact, the forest seemed entirely empty, the only sound the steady lash of rain on leaves.

Warmer now, Pansy slicked her damp fringe back from her face and tried to make a plan.

Things, she had to admit, looked pretty grim. It was dark, cold and tipping it down with rain, and she was completely and utterly lost.

Worst of all, her beautiful boots—her _five-hundred galleon_ boots that she'd convinced herself were ever so practical—had turned out to be not so practical after all. At least, not for hiking through a muddy forest in the middle of a downpour. Stained with mud and rain, they were quite beyond even the most advanced salvaging spell, and Pansy knew she should probably get her priorities straight, but really, she felt like crying just looking at them.

But she was trying to stay positive. After all, it had been much longer than the fifteen minutes she'd told the boys to wait; surely people were looking for her by now. Maybe she should send up a flare.

Or maybe not, she decided, recalling all the terrible creatures that lived in the forest and that might be attracted by a shower of sparks. She was lucky not to have encountered any so far. Maybe the rain had kept them in their caves.

She hoped so. For Rose's sake as well as her own.

It was, unfortunately, just as she was thinking this that she caught the sound of something approaching. It was faint, barely discernible over the drum of the rain, but she very definitely heard the crack of a twig, then another.

She froze, rigid against the tree trunk.

Whatever it was grew nearer, its footsteps slow, steady, as if it wanted to remain undetected. It followed the same path as she had, moments earlier, and her heart gave a hard thump as she realised it must had been stalking her through the shadowy forest.

Indecision churned in her stomach. Should she run? Hide? _Fight_?

Another twig snapped, closer this time. And just like that, Pansy's nerve broke. She took off, bursting like a spell from beneath the tree and launching herself into the bushes.

Alas, her boots were made for running even less than hiking. She stumbled frantically through the trees, branches catching in her clothing, muddy ground slipping beneath her feet.

She didn't get paid enough for this, she thought dazedly as she ran. Forbidden Forests. Dark creatures. Ruined shoes.

Not far behind, the monster released a bellow that, in Pansy's panic-stricken mind, sounded exactly like her name. She pressed on, breath condensing in the air in hot heavy pants.

She wasn't going to outrun it though. Not in these bloody boots.

She needed a spell—and fast.

" _Reducto_!" she screamed, whirling around and firing the curse into the darkness.

The creature was closer than she'd expected. It blocked the curse with a hasty defensive spell and a distinctly human voice. A distinctly human voice Pansy very definitely recognised.

Anger, surprise and her precarious heels made her trip—she hit the ground hard, landing with a splash in a boggy puddle.

"Charlie Weasley," she snapped as he appeared above her. "What the fuck are you doing?"

He held out his hand to her, which she took after only a moment's hesitation. The puddle was rather cold after all.

"Rescuing you," he said as he hauled her upright. "I could ask you the same thing, you mad witch. Trying to blast me to pieces."

"You scared me!" she said, snatching her hand from his the moment she was back on her feet. And almost immediately slipped again.

"I told you those shoes were ridiculous," he said, catching her elbow. Pansy, of course, agreed, but she wasn't about to admit it.

"No, they're not," she said with a sniff. "They're very practical."

"Yeah, just the sort of shoes you'd want to trek through a soggy forest." He glanced upwards, and he was such an infuriating man, but Merlin help her, he was so sexy soaking wet.

"Come on," he said, oblivious to the mesmerising way the raindrops stuck his hair to his forehead and trickled down his face. "Let's get us out of this rain."

She let him tug her gently beneath a large tree and prop her up against the trunk. She was shivering, teeth chattering, although she wasn't sure whether it was from the cold or from the dregs of fear.

"D-did you find Rose?" she asked, wrapping her arms around herself. Charlie frowned then cast a wordless warming spell on them both.

"No," he said shortly. "I was hoping you had."

"Oh." She swallowed. "No. I got lost."

His eyes took in her soaking robes, her sopping hair, her ruined shoes.

"Clearly," he said. "You're in the middle of nowhere."

Of course she was. She closed her eyes, ashamed.

"I was trying to find the clearing."

"Well, you did a bloody awful job about it," he said sharply. "Why did you run off without telling me what had happened?"

Pansy's eyes snapped open in indignation. He made her sound like an errant child.

"Because I knew I could handle it!" she snapped. "I'm not as incompetent as you think."

Anger crossed his face and he closed in on her, hand flattening on the trunk beside her head. The move was threatening, almost proprietary, and it made her bristle.

"You thought you could _handle it_?" he asked in a low, hard voice. "Well, how's that working out for you, Parkinson? You're lost, you haven't found Rose, and if I really had been a hideous monster, you'd have been torn to pieces in three seconds flat! What _in the name of Merlin_ McGonagall was thinking when she hired _you_ to look after children…"

Pansy cut him off, incensed.

"Don't you dare," she hissed up at him. "Don't you dare act like this is, in any way, my fault."

"Isn't it?" he asked blandly.

"No!" Pansy couldn't _believe_ he was trying to blame her for this. "You didn't see Rose leave the clearing either."

"No," he said immediately, "but I'd have had a better chance of finding her if you'd gotten over your little strop and come and told me she was missing!"

 _Little strop?_ She jammed her wand at his chest.

"I wasn't having a strop, you patronising git. And at that point she wasn't missing either, just wandered off. I saw no need to tell you."

"She's my _niece_."

"So what?" she asked rudely. "I wouldn't start calling family the second a student disappears. Why would I rush to tell you just because you're a teacher too?"

Charlie's eyes flashed dangerously.

"A teacher now, am I?" he asked. "Thought I was just the help."

Pansy almost— _almost_ —flinched. She hid it with a sneer.

"You know I'd apologise for that," she said, "if you weren't such an _arse_."

He opened his mouth, no doubt to snap back, when he suddenly went completely still, eyes darting to the side.

"What?" she asked snidely. "No scathing comeback? Really, Charlie, I'm disappointed."

He didn't even glance at her.

"Shh."

"Don't tell me to—umph!" He muffled her angry words with a large hand across her mouth. He'd somehow gotten her right up against the tree, the long length of his body pressed flush against her own.

She let out a squeak of outrage and tried to wriggle free, but he held her firm.

" _Listen_ ," he murmured urgently into her ear.

She heard it the second time—a low growl, quite nearby, its deep timbre almost lost in the sound of the rain.

A monster. Something big.

Charlie didn't ask her whether she'd heard it. There was no question in the way her body went rigid, breath stuttering in her throat.

He, however, seemed completely calm, his body a warm and steadying presence against hers. Slowly, he lowered his hand from her mouth, and Pansy felt the gentle brush of his fingers down her arm until he squeezed her hand.

Another growl, this time much closer, then movement. Beyond Charlie's broad shoulders, Pansy spotted something lurking, a grotesque shape obscured by rain and shadow.

Her gaze slid up to his.

"Behind you," she mouthed, and he nodded once, jaw tight, expression grim. He turned, slowly, his wand drawn. Pansy stayed behind, peeking out from behind a muscled arm.

She was glad she had, because standing no further than a classroom's width away loomed a creature Pansy had only ever seen in textbooks.

A Blood-Sucking Bugbear.

One of the forest's fiercest creatures, the beast was half bear, half troll, with high sloping shoulders, thick matted fur and limbs the size of tree trunks.

The bear growled again, its long, jagged fangs glinting white in the shadows of the forest. Pansy shrank back instantly, but Charlie did the exact opposite, drawing himself to his full height and shaking out his jacket. He seemed larger somehow, which, she realised a few moments later, was exactly the point.

"Alright, Bugbear," he said in a low, calm voice. "No need to worry. We're not here to hurt you. Not here to feed you either," he added, "so don't go getting any ideas."

As he talked, he began edging sideways, away from the tree. Pansy immediately stepped with him.

"We'll just be on our way," Charlie said, as the bear's beady yellow eyes tracked their every move. "No need to follow us now. We'll leave you well alone and would very much appreciate it if you'd return the favour."

The bear shifted towards them a little, its upper lip twitching with the faintest snarl.

But Charlie didn't flinch. Neither did he stop—slowly but surely herding Pansy away from the bear. Fear making her pliant, she moved with him, her hand bunched in the back of his jacket.

"That's it, nice and easy," Charlie soothed, and she didn't know whether he was talking to her or the bear. "Nice and easy."

This time the creature roared, suddenly and violently rearing up to swipe the air with its claws.

Pansy went to run—she knew it was stupid, but she couldn't help it—but Charlie sensed her pull away and grabbed her arm, eyes on the bear all the while.

"Don't," he said quietly, in the exact same voice he used to talk to the creature. "You never run from a bear."

"Then hex it!" she whispered, letting him tug her back into him.

"That'll only make it angry," he said. "Believe me."

Pansy peeped round his shoulder at the monstrous beast.

"It already looks pretty angry to me."

As if reacting to her words, the Bugbear roared again and took a menacing step through the undergrowth.

"Easy, easy," Charlie said, using the grip he had on Pansy's arm to push her slowly backwards. Despite its ferocious growling, the creature seemed content to stay where it was, and they carried on backing away through the bushes, until the damp leaves closed around them and Pansy finally lost sight of it.

But they weren't safe yet. Charlie kept them moving slowly and quietly, his eyes roving the bushes, whole body coiled and ready to react if the Bugbear came bursting through.

It didn't, though. The forest was silent once again, the only sounds the crack of undergrowth beneath their feet and the tap of rain trickling steadily to the forest floor.

Pansy released a breath she hadn't realised she was holding.

"I think it's gon…"

But she'd spoken too soon.

She froze, mid-word, as a savage snarl from behind them made every hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

They turned as one to find another Bugbear—even larger than the first, with darker, more densely matted hair and a thick, vicious scar across its snout—blocking their path.

A rustle in the bushes to the left and the first bear emerged, followed swiftly on the right by a third, this one smaller, leaner, almost lupine in appearance. It snapped and snarled, circling a short distance in front of them, low and ready to spring.

"Fuck," Charlie said, voicing Pansy's thoughts exactly.

"Can we run now?" she asked breathlessly.

"Fuck yes."

They hadn't a hope, she realised as the bears gave chase. Yet adrenaline drove her onwards, blurred the whole world around her until all she knew was the gasp of her breath, the slap of her boots in mud, the brush of wet leaves against her face.

Charlie was right behind her, urging her on. She was grateful for it. He was stronger, faster than her. He could have been long gone, but he was here; he was keeping her going.

She heard him yell a few curses as they ran, but either they missed or bounced straight off the bears' armour-like fur, because it barely slowed their pace.

They weren't going to make it, Pansy realised desperately. She didn't even know where they were heading.

"Down there," Charlie panted, pointing towards a steep slope.

Really? She would have groaned if she hadn't been so damn out of breath. Still, she veered down the bank, Charlie at her heels.

It was, Pansy realised a second or two later, a huge mistake. The embankment was steeper than she'd expected and slippery with rain. Her heel caught in something—a branch, a root, it didn't really matter—and she stumbled, her ankle wrenching sharply.

Charlie snatched for her—his fingers closed around her robes—but the force of her fall was too strong.

The mud-soaked ground slipped from beneath her feet, and together they fell.


	5. Chapter 5

Pansy rolled over and over, all elbows and knees and the lash of undergrowth against her face, until with a sickening lurch, the ground dropped out from underneath her. She landed with a squelch in mud and cold water, Charlie splashing down close beside her.

Somehow the world had gone darker, quieter. She looked up and discovered they had landed in a deep ditch, hidden almost entirely by overgrown foliage.

She'd barely had time to register this, let alone do anything about it, when Charlie reared up and over her. With strong hands, he shoved her flat against the mud walls of the ditch. Next thing she knew he was smearing muck across her face and down her neck, before doing the same to himself.

"What—" she wheezed dazedly, "what are you doing?"

"The—they'll smell us," he panted.

There was no time for any more words. Pansy heard the bears crashing down the bank after them. Charlie rolled so he was almost on top of her, pressing her into the mud. His whole body was laid flat against hers, his breath—quick and heavy like hers—hot on her cheek.

Above them, the Bugbears snuffled around in the underbrush, snarling loudly, scratching at the ground with their giant claws. They were so close—every move, every growl felt as if it were mere inches away. She inhaled sharply, closing her eyes and fisting her hand in the lapels of Charlie's jacket.

"Shh," he murmured in her ear—more for comfort, she realised, than a rebuke.

Eventually, after an agonisingly long length of time, the bears moved on, padding away through the bushes. Neither she nor Charlie moved, even when the forest fell silent once more. They lay there in the dark, the rain pattering above them. Pansy could feel her heartbeat reverberate through her whole body. Or maybe it was Charlie's—he was pressed so tightly against her, she couldn't tell.

"Are they gone?" she whispered eventually. Charlie didn't move. His leg was wedged between her thighs, and it was really neither the place nor the time, but the weight of it was making her body hum.

"I don't know," he said.

"They"—she turned her head slightly, breath catching as his lips brushed her cheek—"they tried to trap us."

"They did."

"I didn't know bears could do that," she admitted.

"They can't," he said. "Not the bears I ran into in Romania anyway." He drew back to look down at her. "Are you okay?" he asked with concern.

"Yes," she said softly. Her ankle was throbbing rather, but she didn't really want to draw his attention back to her stupid shoes. Even if they had, in a rather roundabout way, saved them both. "You?"

"Yeah. Wand survive?"

She felt for it instinctively, then remembered it had been in her hand when she fell…

And now it wasn't.

"Shit!"

She shot upright, clonking Charlie hard in the chin. He jerked up with a grunt, catching himself with a hand to the wall.

"Shit!" she said again, grabbing his shoulder. "Are you okay?"

He rubbed his mud-smeared jaw with a grimace.

"I'll live," he said.

"I'm so sorry."

"I'm fine, Parkinson," he said. "Really. What's another bruise after a roll down a hill?"

From the wry tone of his voice, Pansy supposed she was forgiven. Hopefully for more than just sending them both careening down an embankment.

"That was sort of my fault too," she said, hand flattening on the muscled slope of his shoulder, "wasn't it?"

"It was," he said. "You and your silly shoes."

He was clearly making an attempt to sound disapproving, but his voice was too warm, too intimate. Although the way their bodies were still tangled—even if they were sat in two inches of cold water—probably had something to do with that.

Encouraged, Pansy smoothed her palm down his bicep, enjoying its shape beneath his jacket.

"You know, you seem pretty preoccupied with my shoes," she said. "Got yourself a special kink there, Weasley?"

Her boldness earned her a surprised huff of laughter.

"No more than the next man," he said. "Have you found your wand?"

She had. It had landed just beside her in the puddle.

"Good," he said when she held it up. "Now stay here."

He disentangled their limbs—Pansy didn't realise how warm and comforting his body had been until it was gone—and carefully pushed his way through the foliage above them. His movements dislodged what seemed like several bucketfuls of rainwater, right onto Pansy's head.

She sighed. It felt like she'd never be dry again.

"They're gone," Charlie said, reappearing from the tangled vegetation above and dropping to a crouch beside her, "but we should probably wait a little while longer to be sure. _Lumos_." He pulled a face as his wand lit up the muddy cavern walls and filthy ditch water. "Lovely."

Pansy realised, as resident charms mistress, that she should probably make herself useful. Some spell work later and the ditch was warm, dry and warded from both the elements and any passing monsters. It was by no means _comfortable_ —they were, after all, sitting in a mud hole—but it would have to do.

"Impressive," Charlie said, seating himself on the ground opposite her and stretching out his legs as far as the narrow trench would allow—not very far at all, as it happened; he rested an elbow on his bent knee. "Don't suppose you can conjure up a bottle of firewhisky?"

"You know I can't," she said. "Although if there ever was a time to break the law, I'd say getting chased by rabid Bugbears was one of them."

She charmed herself clean and dry, grimacing as she ran a hand through her hair. Drying it by magic always made it frizz up and flick out like a shower puff. Seriously. She looked like a 70s Muggle pop star.

Thinking longingly of the bottle of Sleekeazy's on her chest of drawers, she glanced sideways at Charlie. He was, she realised, eyeing her with a rather wicked smirk.

"Not a single word," she warned, "or I'll hex _your_ hair off."

The smirk widened into a full smile.

"Not a single word," he promised. He'd already dried himself, Pansy realised, which was a shame. She'd very much enjoyed the way his wet shirt clung to his chest. He wasn't overly bulky, she'd observed, both today and yesterday when she'd witnessed it in all its glorious nakedness, but his body looked strong, his chest broad, his stomach toned.

At the amused arch of his brow, she realised she'd been staring and blinked.

"How did you find me?" she asked to divert him.

"Followed your tracks," he said, still looking far too entertained for Pansy's peace of mind. "Hate to bring up those shoes again, but they do make quite distinctive prints. The rain wasn't quite able to wash them away." He frowned suddenly. "No sign of Rose's though, and I, well…" He hesitated. "Well, I planned to look for her first."

She nodded silently, not offended in the slightest. She'd have done the same.

The silence stretched out. Charlie appeared lost in thought, his brow creased in concern. She knew he was thinking about Rose. It was hard not to, especially since she and Charlie, a supposedly mature witch and wizard, had barely escaped those Bugbears by the skin of their teeth, and even then by complete happenstance. It was easy to imagine Rose, in the same situation, might not have been so lucky.

But she wasn't going to imagine it, and she wasn't about to let Charlie lose hope either. Rose was a smart girl. She could survive a few hours in the forest, and that's if she wasn't already back at the castle, wrapped in a ton of blankets and sipping hot chocolate.

Although Pansy would kill the girl herself if she was.

"She'll be fine," she said softly, nudging him gently with her boot.

He glanced at her, raking an agitated hand through his hair.

"No, she won't. She's just a kid, and she's out there all alone."

"Are you kidding?" Pansy asked incredulously. "Her mum is _Hermione Granger_. Give the girl ten minutes out there and the monsters will be running from _her_."

He smiled at that—just a small one, but she'd work on it.

"What did you do with the other kids?" she asked.

"Took them back to the castle. McGonagall was going to contact Ron and Hermione, and organise a search party. But she could see I was itching to get back out here and find you both, so she sent me on ahead."

Warmth puddled in her chest. Charlie's niece was missing, lost in the Forbidden Forest, but he'd been worried about her, _Pansy_ , too. He'd followed her tracks when he could have ignored them and kept looking for Rose. He'd saved her life with the Bugbears too. Alone, she'd have bolted straight out, and they'd have caught her in an instant.

And really, wasn't it her fault that the girl had been missing so long in the first place? If she hadn't been so stubborn—if she'd just _told_ him what had happened when Albus and Scorpius first came to her—Charlie would have been out there in minutes, before Rose had gotten too far, before the rain had the chance to wash away her tracks, and he'd have found her.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I should have told you about Rose."

His eyes slid to hers, and for a moment, she wasn't sure which way this was going to go.

"I know why you didn't," he said eventually, flashing her a rueful smile. "I was an ass."

"You were," she conceded with a small smile, which swiftly faded as she realised just how to blame she was. "But I'm a teacher. I have a duty to my students, and I let my own pettiness get in the way. And"—she swallowed, thinking it best to get all of her apologies out while they were stuck down here but not at all enjoying the experience—"I'm sorry for what I said yesterday. I was a bitch."

"I wouldn't go that far," he said quietly. She gave a disbelieving snort.

"Oh come on. _You're just a gardener_. Remember that particular delight?"

He shrugged.

"I am a gardener."

"I think we both know you're a lot more than that," she said, then blushed as his eyebrows raised and she realised how… _meaningful_ that sounded. "Anyway," she said stiffly, "you were right. I was being unfair to Albus."

He cocked his head, a small smile playing on his mouth. Evidently, her discomfort was amusing.

"The boy did talk back," he said. "In front of the entire class too."

Pansy narrowed her eyes. She was apologising, dammit. Why did he have to make it so bloody difficult?

" _Politely_ ," she said, a little less than politely herself. "I knew I was being unfair, which is why I let him and Scorpius off detention."

"You did?" Charlie squinted at her sideways. "That's... surprising."

Surprising my ass, Pansy thought.

"Oh?" she said with remarkable restraint.

"Don't take this the wrong way," he said in a way that very much implied he hoped she would, "but correcting injustices never seemed to feature very highly on the Slytherin list of priorities."

He was goading her, she realised—and thoroughly enjoying it too, if the gleam in his eye was anything to go by. She raised her eyebrows.

"You should know better than to stereotype by now. I used to think all Gryffindors were arseholes, but now I... oh wait," she said mildly. "You are."

He let out a gust of laughter.

"That's not a very good apology," he said sternly. Pansy sniffed.

"I only stoop so low. Take it or leave it."

He laughed again.

"I'll take it," he said. "And in exchange, I'll give you mine. I'm sorry. I had no right to burst into your classroom making accusations, and I shouldn't have said the things I did. Tonight too," he added. "It really wasn't very fair to be so unpleasant when you were giving up your evening to help me."

"You did go on a bit about my shoes," she agreed.

"Yes, although that skirt of yours really should have gotten a mention too." He eyed said skirt and Pansy's shapely legs—she'd pushed it up a little so she could sit comfortably—with what actually looked a lot more like appreciation than distaste. "How in the name of Merlin do you walk in it?"

"Quite easily," she said, "when I'm not traipsing through this godforsaken forest, or running from Blood-Sucking Bugbears."

"That was"—he paused—" _not_ an experience I'd like to repeat."

"I'd have thought you'd be used to running from terrifying beasts by now," she said. "What with spending all those years on a dragon reserve."

At the mention of dragons, Charlie's eyes seemed to brighten.

"Never had to run from a dragon in my life," he said. "Dodge an unexpected blast of fire maybe, but generally you try to avoid giving them a reason to attack. Not got much chance running from a dragon," he added. "They'd just pick you up and drop you off a cliff somewhere."

"You enjoyed your job," she observed. His smile faded a little.

"Yeah."

"But you left."

"Yeah," he said again.

"Why?"

He was quiet for a moment, seeming to seriously consider his answer. It was still raining, Pansy noted in the silence; she could hear the gentle tap of rain on the leaves above them.

"It was less of a job," Charlie said slowly, "and more of a way of life. I was always so wrapped up in it, I hardly ever had time to come and see my family."

"You missed them," she said, feeling her insides melt a little. Salazar, she was a sap.

"I missed a lot of things," he admitted. "But I didn't realise it until one day I turned up at the Burrow, and Ginny and Mum were talking about James' OWLs." He gave her a wry glance. "Last time I looked, the kid was barely out of nappies."

"I really hope that wasn't about two years ago," Pansy said. He tutted and rolled his eyes.

"Merlin no. Poor kid. I don't want to start _that_ rumour."

"Good blackmail material though," she said, and he laughed, giving her a look that was in equal parts despairing and deliciously fond.

"You're a wicked woman, Pansy Parkinson."

She returned the smile, which lingered as his eyes held hers, smouldering in the rich light of her charms.

"So I've been told," she said softly.

She really did fancy him, she realised with dismal certainty. And it wasn't just physical. No—she _liked_ him, she wanted to get to know him, and from the look on his face, he'd quite like to get to know _her_ a little more too.

It was so very tempting. All she had to do was lean forward, slide a hand up his chest—the ditch was narrow; he wasn't all that far away—and it'd be a done deal.

But no. The man's niece was missing, lost in a dark, wet forest, and there wasn't time to waste snogging him senseless. No matter how desperately she wanted to.

"Do you…" She tugged her bottom lip between her teeth, then stopped, immediately, when she realised his eyes had followed the movement. "Do you think the Bugbears are far enough away now?"

"Yes," he said, eyes still on her mouth.

"Should we—" She broke off with a shaky, shallow breath. He was gazing at her with such transparent intent, it was getting really hard to think straight.

"Yes?" he asked softly.

"Should…" She shifted a little towards him, not even fully conscious of it. "Should we head back out?"

His eyes—hot and dark, like molten magma—flickered up to meet hers.

"In a minute," he said. Then he leant forward to cup her face in his hand and kiss her, hard, on the mouth.

 _Priorities_ , Pansy's mind howled instantly, but a wave of pleasure washed that thought right away. She kissed him back just as passionately and slipped her hands up his chest to grip his broad solid shoulders.

 _His_ hands, meanwhile, slid down her body, until he had the leverage to drag her into his lap. She sank into him, chest to chest, hips to hips, and pushed her fingers into his thick hair to tug him even closer.

"Pansy," he murmured hoarsely, and her name on his lips sent shivers up her spine. "Merlin, Pansy, I've wanted to do this for _ages."_

"Ages?" she asked between kisses.

"Yes." His mouth found her throat, words vibrating across her skin. "Ever since I saw you at Hogsmeade station, wearing one of your sexy skirts and those goddamn heels."

"I knew you had a kink for heels!" she gasped, head back, eyes shut, and he chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that she felt right down to her toes.

Unable to help herself, she dragged his mouth back to hers.

"Kiss me," she demanded. Charlie acquiesced with a soft groan, the air in the ditch growing hotter, steamier, as teeth scraped on skin and fingers grappled for purchase.

Charlie's hand had just found its way up her skirt, fingers tracing a tantalising path up her thighs, when a sudden and terrible roar startled their lips apart.

Panting, they stared at each other.

"What—" she began breathlessly, but he put a finger to her lips.

Everything seemed to have fallen very silent now the air was no longer filled with heavy breaths and moans. Pansy squinted up at the roof of greenery above them, wondering if it was enough to hide them from sight. Perhaps, if the Bugbears were returning, they should extinguish the light.

"Charlie…" she whispered, but stopped as she realised something was crashing through the bushes towards them.

It didn't _sound_ like a Bugbear; it wasn't big enough. But then there was no need to ponder, because with a squeal of alarm, someone very definitely human fell flat on their face right on top of them.

Well, not right _on top_ of them. The wards Pansy had cast acted as an invisible barrier, and the thick layer of twisted undergrowth hid the person mostly from view.

But she had seen enough. Her eyes darted across the scuffed school shoes and small hands pressed flat against the wards, and before Charlie even had a chance to move, had whipped out her wand and shattered the enchantments.

Rose Weasley fell in an ungainly flurry of limbs between them. Another angry roar pierced the air, mere metres from their hiding place, and Pansy flung up the wards once more.

And not a moment too soon. With a furious bellow, the Blood-Sucking Bugbear tore through the underbrush and lunged straight at Pansy. For the briefest moment, she thought that this was it, the wards couldn't possibly hold against the fury of this terrifying beast, but it wasn't and they did. The bear's snout bounced off Pansy's charms like a solid brick wall.

It was the bear from before, the largest, the one whose face was severed by a thick knotted scar. As it roared in rage, trying, in vain, to claw its way down to them, Pansy cast a few more spells, the strongest she knew, just to be sure. As a final touch, she cast a silencing charm, so poor Rose, who was sobbing in Charlie's lap, wouldn't have to hear the creature's terrifying snarls.

Satisfied they were sufficiently shielded, she lowered her wand and glanced at Charlie. Usually unflappable, he looked rather shell-shocked, staring at her with wide eyes, mussed hair and deliciously reddened lips.

"What…" He looked down at the bawling teenager slumped between them. "What just happened?"

"I think we just found our missing student," Pansy said. She reached out to touch the poor girl's shaking shoulder. "Rose," she said gently. "Rose, are you okay?"

Rose lifted her head and wailed something incoherent.

By this time, luckily, Charlie had gathered his wits; he helped Rose get up and off his lap. The girl collapsed in a sobbing heap beside them, and Pansy and Charlie exchanged worried glances.

"Rose," Pansy said firmly. She needed the girl to pull herself together and tell her if she was hurt. "Rose, look at me."

Rose did as she was told, peeling her hands from her face to look at her teacher. When her damp eyes widened, Pansy realised she had, in her alarm, entirely forgotten she was still in fact _straddling_ the girl's uncle and that somehow he had gotten her skirt right up around her waist and not pulled it back down.

Cheeks growing hot, she tugged at the fabric until it covered everything it was supposed to and slid sheepishly off Charlie's lap.

"Are you hurt?" she asked briskly, deciding it was best just to move on. She couldn't look at Charlie.

Rose shook her head in reply, but Pansy lit her wand and did a quick glance over her all the same. She was filthy dirty and soaking wet but, fortunately, had remained mostly unscathed, with just a few thin, shallow scratches Pansy assumed were from brambles and not Blood-Sucking Bugbears.

She had started to shiver too, quite violently, so Pansy dried her off and cast an extra warming spell on them all for good measure.

The poor girl was still crying, tears streaming silently down her face. Usually, Pansy avoided too much physical contact with her students, but she supposed narrowly avoiding a mauling from a vicious beast was reason enough to break the rules; she pulled Rose into a hug.

"It's okay," she said as the girl sank into her, sobbing silently into her chest. "You're safe now. It's okay."

She caught Charlie's eye over his niece's bent head, and they shared a guilty glance.

They had been down here in this warm, dry hidey-hole, snogging like a pair of horny teenagers when poor Rose Weasley was out there, running for her life.

She was a god-awful teacher—she really was.

"I'm so sorry," Rose said with a snotty sniff, and Pansy tried valiantly not to think about the bodily fluids soaking into her shirt.

"You're safe," she said. "That's all that matters."

Rose lifted her head to stare forlornly at them both.

"Mum is going to kill me," she said, and Charlie laughed softly and ruffled her hair.

"She certainly is. And you deserve it, you mad girl. Gave us the bloody fright of our lives."

"I'm sorry," Rose said again. She glanced upwards to where the Bugbear was furiously trying to get to them—scratching and biting, saliva swinging, almost foaming, from its jaws—and blanched.

"Hey," Charlie said, bringing her chin back down. "Don't look, okay?"

"What if it gets through?" she whispered.

"It won't," he promised her. "Professor Parkinson is the best."

Pansy shot him a sharp look, since he only ever seemed to use her teacher title when he was making fun of her, but the infuriating man just smiled innocently back.

The Bugbear would be a problem though, she realised, relief at having found Rose ebbing a little in the face of their next dilemma. Apparently, Charlie was thinking along the same lines, because he glanced up at the beast and frowned.

"We need to get out of here," he said.

Rose, now tucked under Pansy's arm, tensed up at the prospect of leaving their shelter.

"No," Pansy said, giving her a comforting squeeze. "We should stay here. The wards will hold. We just need to wait until it leaves."

"It won't leave," Charlie said seriously. "Not now it knows where we are. You saw what these bears are capable of. They're smart. It knows we can only last so long down here."

Rose whimpered.

"We can last long enough," Pansy said, shooting him a pointed glare. Could the man be any more insensitive? To her annoyance, however, he didn't look the least bit chastened.

"Maybe," he said, "but we won't need to, because I have a plan."

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 _A/N: So Rose is safe! For the time being, anyway... Thanks for reading, and please do drop me a review to let me know what you thought._


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: This is the penultimate chapter. As always, thanks for reading and please do review!_

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Charlie's plan was admittedly rather sensible, although it would rely quite heavily on Pansy's charm work. She supposed it was a sign of his confidence in her abilities to protect them, but to be honest, she'd much rather stay in the ditch and wait until one of McGonagall's search parties showed up and vanquished the beast for them.

Not that the plan involved vanquishing anything really. It was, in actual fact, comfortingly Slytherin in that respect.

Or at least that's what she told herself as she crawled down the dark wet ditch, Rose Weasley's skinny bottom in her face. They had extinguished the light from their wands, so the bear couldn't see them. Pansy had also extended the protective and silencing enchantments as far as she could, so it wouldn't hear them splashing down the muddy trench and, if by some unfortunate occurrence, it _could_ , well then their plan would have failed but at least it couldn't tear them limb from limb.

Hooray for small mercies.

Charlie leading the way, they inched carefully down the ditch. The charms above shielded them from the rain, but not from the deep dirty puddles already pooled below. Cold water seeped up Pansy's skirt and sleeves, and every so often, something particularly slimy would squelch beneath her fingers, but she bravely pressed on.

Eventually though, they'd gone as far as they could. The ditch ended abruptly with the sprawling roots of a very large, very crooked tree.

"Alright, up we go," Charlie said. Pansy took that as her cue and cast a powerful disillusionment charm—and a few other spells besides—so they could leave the safety of the ditch but remain hidden and entirely inaudible.

Charlie lifted Rose swiftly and silently out of the ditch, before cat-like and graceful, he leapt up himself. Pansy accepted his hand and let him tug her up and out beside him. Gaining her footing, she gave him a wan smile, but the moment he turned away, gingerly tested her injured ankle. It throbbed painfully under her weight, but not so badly she couldn't walk on it.

Still, she winced as she took her first step, which, unfortunately, Charlie glanced back just in time to catch. He slanted her a suspicious look but said nothing.

Knowing the Bugbear wouldn't stay fooled for long, they set off, moving quickly and quietly through the murky forest. As before, Charlie led the way, his niece's hand wrapped tightly in his own. Pansy followed close behind, wishing she had someone's hand to hold as she limped along; it had stopped raining but the ground was waterlogged, muddy, and she kept slipping on soggy leaves. The jarring as she caught herself did nothing for her injured ankle, and before too long, it had become too painful to continue.

"Wait," she gasped, grabbing onto a nearby tree trunk for support. "Charlie, wait."

Her companions had been a few metres ahead, just starting up a steep, rocky slope that Pansy just _knew_ she'd need to climb on her hands and knees, but Charlie was at her side in seconds, Rose a beat or two behind.

"What's wrong?" he asked, scanning her for injury.

"My ankle…" She let go of the tree and plopped bum-first onto the floor—the _damp_ floor. "Goddammit," she groaned as the wet mud soaked right through to her knickers.

Charlie crouched beside her.

"Can I have a look?"

She shot him a withering look.

"I'm wearing tights."

"I thought your legs felt a bit woolly," he teased, eyes twinkling. She glowered back, even as she recalled the delicious feel of his hands creeping up her thighs. "Can I take them off?"

Pansy considered. Tights were tricky things to disentangle yourself from at the best of times.

"Can you handle a cutting charm?" she asked.

"Of course," he replied. "As it happens, my cutting charms are stuff of legend."

Pansy would have rolled her eyes at that, but as he'd spoken, he'd stretched out her ankle and gently tugged off her boot. Pain rocketed up her leg, and she bit back a curse.

"Watch it," she hissed.

"Sorry." He smoothed a gentle hand down her calf and pressed his wand to her leg, just above her ankle. " _Diffindo_."

His cutting charm was as good as his word. A single flash of soft green light and her pretty patterned tights were sliced neatly through the ankle.

Pansy sighed. Yet another item of clothing her frolic in the forest had utterly destroyed.

"When did this happen?" Charlie asked, carefully rolling up her ruined tights. She hesitated, and he fixed her a stern stare. "When, Parkinson?"

"When we fell down the hill," she said sheepishly,

"When we fell down the…" he echoed. "Dammit Pansy, why didn't you tell me?!"

He lit his wand and they both stared down at her revealed ankle. It was purple and swollen—so swollen in fact, Pansy wasn't sure she'd get her boot back on.

"I didn't think it was that bad," she said, feeling slightly sick.

Charlie passed his wand to Rose—"Here, hold this. No, up, so I can see."—and took her distended foot in both hands.

"I would say that's a pretty nasty sprain," he said, moving it gently in a circle. He shot her an annoyed glance. "You should have told me," he said. "You've made it worse walking on it."

"Didn't really have a choice, did I?" she said, slipping it from his grasp with a wince and making to stand. She just wanted to get out of this damn forest. "Come on. We need to keep going."

"What are you—" Exasperated, Charlie grabbed her shoulder to keep her on the ground. "No way. You can't walk on that."

"I can too," she said.

"No, you can't," he said, frustration evident in his voice. "I'll have to carry you."

"I'm not being carried," she said immediately. Her pride simply wouldn't allow it.

"Pansy…"

"No," she said, knowing she was being petty and stubborn but too wet and cold and in too much pain to be reasonable. "I won't be carried."

Charlie narrowed his eyes.

"Parkinson," he said, "I'm in no mood to argue. Nope," he said when she opened her mouth to do just that. "I don't want to hear it. Now either you let me carry you or we leave you here for the Bugbears."

Of course Pansy wasn't going to let him get away with speaking to her like _that_. She scowled at him.

"Why _you_ …"

But Charlie would never know what she thought of him, because at that moment, she heard a very low, very familiar growl.

She froze, the words drying on her lips.

"Rose, get behind me," Charlie ordered, snatching his wand from her and ushering her back towards the tree. "You too, Pansy."

Pansy struggled to her feet. The weight of her body nearly buckled her ankle, but she got herself upright with the help of Rose and the tree, and little more than a muffled huff of pain.

"Can you walk?" Charlie asked, eyes on the bushes.

 _No_ , was Pansy's immediate thought, but she gritted her teeth and let go of the trunk.

"Yes."

Charlie lifted his wand, casting light across the trees. It was hard to see past the first few; their shadows trembled and flickered, and Pansy's frightened mind saw monsters everywhere.

"We need to get up that slope," he said. She dared a glance at the steep pile of rocks and blanched.

"Okay."

Rose's hand gripped tightly in hers, she began edging slowly towards it, Charlie just in front.

"Where's the bear?" Pansy whispered. She had her wand in her hand and needed to know where to aim it.

Charlie pointed his own wand to the left.

"One," he said in a low, steady voice, then gestured slowly to the right. "Two."

There were _two_?! Pansy tightened her grip on Rose's hand and squinted into the darkness.

As if realising they'd been spotted, the two Bugbears slunk out of the shadows. They snarled but kept their distance, pacing in a semi-circle as she and the others moved slowly towards the rocks.

The disillusionment charm must have worn off, she realised with a sinking stomach. She'd been distracted by her ankle, been too bloody busy _arguing_ , and she hadn't checked the spell.

And it looked like things were about to get a lot worse before they got better, because Charlie suddenly shifted his position, drawing her and Rose closer behind him.

" _Three_ ," he said, eyes dead ahead.

Pansy followed his gaze, wand faltering, blood draining from her face.

Because there, shrouded in shadow, stood the final Bugbear. Amber eyes gleaming malevolently, it emerged, unfurling from the trees like a beast from a cave.

Pansy had almost forgotten how big it was. It was all muscle, powerful limbs rippling beneath matted fur as it prowled slowly towards them.

With a soft whimper, Rose pressed more tightly into Pansy's side. The girl was trembling, violently so, but she bravely held her own wand out in front of her. At the sight of her expression, determined yet so frightened, Pansy felt a wave of protectiveness washed over her.

She was going to get the girl back to the castle, she decided. Even if she died trying.

Pansy's back hit a boulder, and suddenly, there was nowhere to go but up. They wouldn't make it far though, she realised with a sickening lurch. One bound and the Bugbears would be upon them.

If only there was some way to keep them back, she thought desperately—some way to scare them off.

Hold on a minute…

"Rose," she whispered, "what are Blood-Sucking Bugbears afraid of?"

When the girl did nothing but stare at her confusedly, Pansy made a noise of frustration. "On the way into the forest," she explained in a urgent whisper, "you were talking about Bugbears and what to do if you met one. You said they were afraid of something."

"Those are Bugbears?" Rose asked with a terrified glance at the creatures in question.

"Of course they're Bugbears," Pansy said crossly. "What the bloody hell did you think they were? Fairies? _What are they afraid of?!_ "

Rose looked cornered.

"I—I don't know!" she said. "I can't remember."

Exasperated, Pansy opened her mouth to tell her that she bloody well _needed_ to remember, but Charlie took a sudden step back, shepherding them both along the boulder.

"We've got to go," he said, eyes on the approaching predators. "Rose, start climbing. You too, Parkinson."

Rose did as she was told, but Pansy was less amenable.

"I'm not leaving you behind," she said, but he reached behind and squeezed her arm.

"Believe me, I'm not planning on letting you. Now get your ass up those rocks, Parkinson, before I feed you to the bears myself."

Pansy turned and reluctantly began to climb. The rocks were precarious, overgrown with weeds and brambles, and shifted dangerously beneath her weight. A particular nasty jolt and pain lanced through her ankle like a knife. She caught her balance with a yelp—a sound so pitiful, she half expected to be instantly ripped apart.

Yet the bears stayed back.

A glance behind and she saw why; at the bottom of the slope, Charlie had feinted an attack, lunging forward with his wand. Perhaps his curses from before had done some damage because the bears were clearly wary. They snarled and tossed their heads as he began to edge backwards up the rocks, but didn't pounce.

It was, however, only a matter of time.

"Fire!" Rose suddenly hollered, and Pansy's head snapped up in alarm. The stupid girl stood on the crest of the hill, bouncing up and down. "Bugbears are scared of _fire_!"

Her shout shattered the spell.

"No!" Pansy cried as the bears lunged, but Charlie was already scrambling up after her.

"Go!" he bellowed, leaping up the rocks. His foot skidded and he almost lost his balance. A hand to the ground kept him on his feet, but it lost him precious seconds—the fastest bear was mere metres below, snapping at his heels.

" _Amni igniso_!" Pansy yelled, flinging out her wand. A stream of fierce orange flames shot from its tip, shooting over Charlie's head towards the bear. It recoiled with a yelp, skidding down the rocks. Emboldened, she fired again and again, holding all three bears at bay until Charlie reached her side.

"Come on!" He grabbed her wrist as he passed and dragged her with him.

The threat of fire didn't keep the bears back for long. If only the ground wasn't so wet, Pansy thought distractedly, she could set it alight, form a barrier, block their path…

"Go!" Charlie ordered, shoving her upwards. The rocks had grown larger, steeper now, and demanded her full concentration. Ignoring the throbbing of her ankle, Pansy clambered on, shooting blasts of fire back over his head whenever she got the chance.

They might make it, she realised with a surge of hope. If they could just keep the Bugbears back, if they could just reach the edge of the forest…

A blood-curdling scream ripped through the air.

 _Rose._

One bear, the largest, had broken away from the pack and circled up the edge of the slope. Now it crouched low, stalking towards Rose with deadly intent.

Pansy had never before seen a man move so quickly. One second, Charlie was behind her, pushing her up the rocks; the next, he had leapt past her to run, full pelt, at the Blood-Sucking Bugbear. He bellowed a curse, and a searing blast of white fire exploded across the rock face. It hit the bear square in the muzzle, the sheer force of the spell sending the enormous creature bowling backwards, flipping over and over as it rolled down the slope.

Charlie didn't break pace. He reached Rose, who was clinging fearfully to a rock, and slung her over his shoulder. Only then did he pause, glancing back for Pansy.

"Go!" she yelled, still scrabbling up the rocks. "I'm coming. Just get her out of here!"

He seemed to hesitate, but then he took off, vanishing over the crest of the hill.

Pansy struggled on, her ankle making it difficult to negotiate the slippery, ever-shifting rocks. Glancing behind, she saw with dismay that the bears had regrouped at the bottom of the rocks and were beginning to climb after her. She gritted her teeth and pushed upwards.

She would make it. _She would make it._

Merlin knew what got her to the top of the hill, but she got there. Gasping, she hauled herself over the crest, scrambled to her feet and took off through the woods.

There was no sign of Charlie and Rose. Pansy didn't even know whether she was running in the right direction.

But she staggered on, wet branches groping for her clothing, her skin, her hair. If she'd thought running in both of her boots was difficult, sprinting in just one, with a swollen and sprained ankle besides, was pure torture.

But she couldn't stop.

A deadly roar behind and she knew the bears were closing in. Panting, she cast a stream of flame over her shoulder, then another and another and another, but they were still coming. _They were still coming_.

On the fifth blast, her ankle gave way—it snapped with a sickening, stomach-churning crack that sent her tumbling to the ground.

Pain rocketed through her, so intense she might have momentarily blacked out. But then she was on her back, winded, stunned, staring up at her stars.

Get up, her mind screamed. _Get up, get up!_

But she couldn't. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't move.

And then the stars were gone, blocked out by the monster above her. It reared over her with an almighty roar that made the ground shake beneath her, made the blood freeze in her veins until she could do nothing but stare, terrified.

This was it, she thought dazedly. She was going to die.

And then the sky exploded with an arc of dazzling white light. It engulfed the bear with a blinding flash, sending it careering backwards. The bear roared furiously, but the flames kept coming—hundreds upon hundreds of beams illuminating the forest like rays of the sun.

Pansy could hear shouting, the thud of footsteps, the distant bellow of a bear in pain. And then someone skidded to their knees beside her and warm hands cupped her face.

 _Charlie._

"Pansy." He searched her face with frantic eyes. "Fuck! Are you okay?"

"My ankle…" she managed.

He grabbed her then, sweeping her up off the ground and into a pair of strong solid arms. She fisted her hands in his jacket, pressing her face into his neck, inhaling his scent.

"My God, Pansy," he murmured into her hair. "You weren't moving. I thought—I thought I was too late."

"I'm okay," she whispered.

"Weasley!" someone called, making her jump. Looking up, Pansy realised it was the school's herbology teacher, Neville Longbottom. He raced over. "She okay?" he asked, concern in his voice. And no wonder. Realising they were saved, Pansy had slumped face-first onto Charlie's chest in giddy relief.

"Sprained ankle," Charlie said, voice vibrating through his body. "I'll carry her."

"Right," Neville said. "Let's get out of here before the bears come back. Everyone move out!" he called, voice echoing through the trees.

Charlie slipped a hand beneath Pansy's knees and stood, drawing her tightly to his chest. She nestled into him, curiously content despite the terrible pain in what was now a very definitely broken ankle.

She was alive, she was safe, and as they walked swiftly through the forest, Charlie Weasley was glancing down at her with a mingle of relief, concern and affection. She supposed her expression was much the same.

"You came back for me," she said quietly.

Those lovely brown eyes crinkled warmly at the corners.

"Of course I did," he said, "although I'm starting to regret it." He made a show of weighing her in his arms. "You're a bit of a lump, Parkinson, aren't you?"

Too tired for her usually snappy comebacks, she simply shot him a glare and settled her head on his shoulder.

She had come close to losing her life tonight. She had come close to losing _Charlie_ , which, to her surprise, had scared her even more.

He hadn't even been hers to lose.

Charlie seemed to sense her pensiveness, because he gave her a little squeeze.

"You okay?"

"Yes," she said slowly, not really wanting to explain the sudden and deep affection she was feeling for him, barely even understanding it _herself_. "Just thinking what a nightmare tonight was."

Charlie quirked a brow.

"Not all of it, I hope."

"No," she replied, meeting his eyes, feeling a lurch deep in her stomach at the sudden heat there. "Not all of it."

He held her gaze, a deliciously long and drawn-out moment of remembered bliss, then a shout of excitement broke the spell.

"Professor Parkinson!" Rose came bounding over. "You're okay!"

"Thanks to your uncle," Pansy said, dragging her gaze from his to smile at her pupil. The girl had mud smeared across her face and her long red curls were tangled and scattered with leaves and forest debris.

"And me!" Rose said, beaming. "I came up with the idea of using fire. I saved the day. Did you hear that, Professor?" she said to Neville, who had reappeared beside them. "I remembered what Bugbears are afraid of."

"Well done," Neville said, patting her on the back.

Rose skipped off—"Madame Hooch, guess what? I saved the day!"—apparently having entirely forgotten the reason why any of them were in danger in the first place.

"That girl," Pansy said with a roll of her eyes.

"Oh, she'll realise how much trouble she's in eventually," Neville said. He strode ahead, shooting Pansy and Charlie a very non teacher-like grin over his shoulder. " _Hermione_ is waiting for her outside the forest."

* * *

...

* * *

 _A/N: The incantation for Pansy's spell comes from the Latin for 'river of fire'. Still to come: Rose is reunited with her parents, McGonagall has some wise words for Pansy, and our couple gets their happy ending._


	7. Chapter 7

Rose's mum was indeed waiting for them at the edge of the forest. As were the entire Weasley family, what looked to be the whole Hogwarts staff body and several Aurors besides. They had set up a village of canvas gazebos, evidently under which to coordinate the search. Those that weren't out in the forest were crowded around tables, poring over maps and passing out hot drinks.

"We've got them!" Neville yelled as they hurried through the last stretch of scrubland. "We've got them. They're safe!"

Pansy had spotted Rose's parents the moment Charlie stepped out of the trees, standing alone, a little way from the tents. Hermione was clearly weeping—Ron had his arms wrapped tightly around her, and her face was buried in his neck.

On hearing Neville's shout, however, she lifted her head. Her broken cry of relief echoed all the way to the forest edge as she tore herself from her husband and stumbled through the long grass towards them. She was still sobbing, beaming through her tears, as she threw her arms around her daughter, closely followed by Ron, who embraced them both.

Pansy and Charlie shared a soft look. The mud, the Bugbears, the broken ankle—suddenly, none of it seemed to matter so much.

Moments later, they were surrounded by the rest of the searchers. They poured across the scrubland, cheering, whooping, their wands lit and faces bright. Charlie shifted Pansy a little more upright in his arms, for which she was grateful—she felt a bit stupid and useless being carried about like some injured damsel. She gave him a small smile, linking her arms around his neck.

"Well done, mate," George Weasley said, clapping his brother on the back and winking at Pansy. "Took you long enough though, didn't it?"

"Well, I didn't see either of you getting off your arses to help," Charlie said to him and another Weasley brother—the eldest, Pansy thought, though she couldn't recall his name.

Whoever he was, he delivered a swift smack over the back of Charlie's head.

"None of your cheek now," he said, although he was grinning broadly. "Harry had the searches regimented like a military operation. We just got back from our section."

"Let me through please!" a stern voice commanded over the ruckus. "Step aside please. Let's give Ms Parkinson some space."

Like all ex-students when faced with the school's formidable matron, George and the other brother did as they were told.

"Pansy, dear," Poppy Pomfrey said, a hand already pressed to Pansy's forehead. "How are you feeling?"

She was, in fact, in a lot of pain, but at the moment was far more concerned that Rose be checked over first. Still wrapped in her mother's arms, the girl no longer seemed so pleased with herself. Skin pale, eyes wide, Pansy hoped she finally realised just how terribly she'd frightened everyone.

"I'm fine," Rose insisted when Pansy voiced this, but Madame Pomfrey clearly disagreed. She whisked them both off to the medical tent, where she gave them a draught of Pepperup Potion and swiftly diagnosed Pansy's ankle as broken _and_ sprained.

She tapped the toe of Pansy's one remaining boot.

"You're lucky you lasted as long as you did in these," she said, with which Pansy rather agreed. She'd be throwing it out as soon as she could. The Bugbears could keep the other.

The healing process was quick but rather painful. Pansy would have liked someone's hand to squeeze, but Charlie had vanished almost as soon as he'd set her carefully on the bed, and she wasn't brave enough to ask someone to go find him.

"There," Poppy said with a sympathetic glance in her direction. "All done. The bone is healed, but it'll be quite sore for a little while. You'll need to keep off your feet for a few days."

"Oh, we'll make sure of that," McGonagall said, appearing suddenly in the tent's entryway. "I think you and Mr Weasley both deserve more than a few days off after such a heroic rescue."

Pansy bit her lip, feeling suddenly self-conscious. Heroic did seem to be pushing it rather. Indeed, to Pansy, the whole evening just seemed like one terrible disaster after another.

"Really," she said, "it was mostly Charlie."

"Not from how he tells it," Minerva said, approaching the bed. She gave Pansy a knowing smile over her square spectacles. "He is quite smitten."

Embarrassed, Pansy glanced quickly across the tent to where Rose was, in between sips of hot chocolate (prescribed, of course, by Madame Pomfrey), giving her parents a blow-by-blow account of the evening's adventures, but they didn't seem to have overheard.

Still, her cheeks were hot when she turned back to the headmistress, who was watching her with uncharacteristic slyness.

"As, it seems," she said, "are _you_."

"Oh no," Pansy said, blushing more deeply. "Not at all."

But all the headmistress had to do was arch a thin, dark brow, and she knew there was no point denying it.

"Okay," she admitted with a sigh, leaning back against the pillows. "Maybe just a little."

Minerva eyed her thoughtfully for a moment.

"Something is holding you back," she said. When Pansy's gaze flickered, startled, to hers, she smothered a smile. "Do forgive my intrusion, Miss Parkinson. I don't usually meddle with my teachers' private lives, but I have rather enjoyed seeing you and Mr Weasley making eyes at each other over the breakfast table."

Pansy covered her face with her hands. First Daphne, now Professor McGonagall. How had she become so damn obvious?

Obvious, apparently, to everyone but herself, since the realisation of how much she liked him, how much she _wanted_ him, had hit her like a lightning strike in that dark, dirty ditch. Of course, so much had happened since that kiss in the forest, she'd hardly had the chance to breathe, let alone consider her feelings for him.

And there were some very deep feelings. Deeper, perhaps, than she'd ever had for any man before. Charlie was kind. He loved his family—look how far he'd gone to be near to them, to protect them. Not to mention he was gorgeous and a damn good kisser.

So what was holding her back?

"It's just… well, it's not really appropriate, is it?" she said hesitantly. "I'm here to teach children, not date the groundskeeper. I'm still only new, and so is he." She sighed and stared up at the canvas ceiling. "Maybe in a few years…"

"Pansy," McGonagall interrupted firmly, "life is too short to let such trivial concerns get in the way of love." She sounded so vehement that Pansy blinked at her in surprise.

"But…" She fumbled for words. "But the other teachers, the _parents_ , will think…"

"That you are an exceptionally good teacher," Minerva cut her off once again, "who risked her life to save a student tonight. Teachers are allowed romance too, Pansy," she added with a kindly smile. "Don't let your chance slip away."

That was, it seemed, the end of that, because at that moment, Hermione and Ron came over to the bed to thank her, and McGonagall stole away.

Pansy felt a little uncomfortable at first—she had, after all, tormented them both terribly in their earlier years; not to mention Ron now sported a very full, very red beard. But it seemed Rose had enthused about her at length, because they were under the impression she had saved the girl's life multiple times and were genuinely and fervently grateful.

By the time they'd finished thanking her and returned with Rose to the other bed, Pansy was quite tired and just wanted to get some sleep. Or snog Charlie. That would be quite nice too.

She slumped back against the headboard and let her eyes flicker shut.

"How's the ankle?" a familiar voice asked softly.

She opened her eyes to see him standing beside her bed. He looked tired and rumpled, and there was a smudge of dirt across his cheek. But his eyes were warm and focused so entirely on her that in that moment—in that very instant—she knew.

Teachers _did_ deserve romance. And so, she decided, did the keeper of keys and grounds.

"Where did you go?" she asked, because a sudden declaration of love might scare him off.

He pulled a face, reaching out to pluck a twig from her hair.

"Harry wanted a statement," he said. His fingers lingered, brushing gently around the side of her ear. "I got back here as soon as I could."

"You didn't have to," she said, trying for nonchalance but not quite succeeding.

Charlie didn't seem to mind though. He dropped his hand and gave her a look that was both impatient and fond.

"Pansy," he said bluntly. "I'm not sure you realise just how very badly I've fallen for you."

He… he what? She stared at him, open-mouthed, not entirely sure she'd heard right.

"How badly you've _fallen_ for me?" she echoed hesitantly.

"Yes," he said, "and the answer is very badly. Chased by Bugbears, tripped and rolled down a hill into a muddy ditch _badly_."

When all Pansy did was stare in astonishment, he smiled broadly.

"Sorry, was that a bit much? I didn't mean to frighten you."

She managed to close her mouth and swallowed, hard.

"You didn't," she said. "I was just… surprised."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Surprised?"

"Yes," she said, then, recovering her wit, gave him a little smile. "I'm not sure you've realised just how badly I've fallen for _you_."

A slow grin stretched across his face.

"Oh?" he inquired, nailing nonchalance much better than she. "And how badly would that be?"

"Chased by Bugbears, with one heeled boot and one bare foot"—she cocked a brow at him, confident in her victory—"ankle snaps in two _badly_."

Charlie winced.

"Okay, yes, you win," he said, then slanted her a heated look. "Or maybe I do. How is the snapped ankle, by the way?"

"All fixed," she said, wriggling her bare toes to demonstrate, then wishing she hadn't. "Hurts like a bitch though."

He frowned, looking around.

"Maybe Poppy has some painkilling potions."

"I'll be okay," Pansy said. "I'm just ready for bed now."

His eyes gleamed.

"Bed, huh?"

"My _own_ bed," she emphasised. Then paused, thinking how very far off her bed and fluffy pyjamas seemed, in the furthest wing of the castle. "Although…" she said slowly.

"Although?" he echoed.

"It does seem so very far away," she said, looking up at him from beneath her eyelashes.

"Oh?" He moved a little nearer. She shrugged, feigning indifference.

"Maybe yours would be closer. And, of course," she added with a look down at her crumpled and muddy skirt and blouse, "it would be nice to get out of these dirty clothes."

"It would," he said huskily.

"Perhaps you could help me," she said, tilting her head up at him.

His eyes scorched into hers for a long moment, then in a flurry of movement, he swept her up off the bed and into his arms. She let out a squeak of surprise, which Charlie mistakenly interpreted as pain.

"Shit," he said in alarm. "Your ankle?"

"I'm fine," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck. "More than fine."

"Me too." He kissed her then, a slow lingering kiss that melted the very depths of her soul yet somehow ended all too soon. "Bed?" he asked when he pulled away.

"Bed," she agreed.

Then, with a regal nod at Hermione and Ron, who were staring silent and slack-jawed from across the tent, and a wink at Rose, who was watching with the undisguised glee of a student first to discover a juicy bit of gossip, he carried her out of the tent and across the grassy field.

It was, of course, going to be impossible to steal away without being noticed—especially not now the rain had stopped completely and the moon shone like a prophecy orb in the sky.

Naturally, it had to be George Weasley who spotted them. He let out a series of whoops and hollers, promptly joined by a catcall from the eldest brother whom Pansy now remembered as Bill.

She hid her face in Charlie's jacket.

"Oh my God," she said. "Your bloody brothers."

Charlie laughed, the sound reverberating through his chest.

"They think you're brilliant," he said, brushing a quick kiss to her forehead, "and so do I."

She peeked up at him, and this time, he kissed her on the mouth. He'd clearly meant it to be quick, but she laced her fingers in his hair, keeping his mouth on hers. He groaned, arms tightening around her.

They hardly made it to the cabin before she was tugging at his clothes and they landed on his bed in a tangle of limbs and kisses.

It wasn't going to be easy dating at Hogwarts, Pansy knew. Surrounded by colleagues and students, some of which were Charlie's own nephews and nieces, there'd be obstacles and no doubt more than a few embarrassments.

But for now, as Charlie Weasley's skilful mouth trailed wetly down her throat, as her palms slid slowly across the hard hot muscles of his back, as the warm solid weight of his body pressed her into the mattress?

Wild Bugbears couldn't drag her away.

* * *

THE END

* * *

 _A/N: I hope you've enjoyed this little story. Thank you for taking the time to read it, and please do remember to drop me a review—it's great to hear what you thought!_


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